Blue Eyes Shine (Star Trek XI, NC-17)
Jun. 30th, 2009 09:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
browngirlTitle: Blue Eyes Shine
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: George Kirk/Chris Pike & Admiral Pike/Jim Kirk. George/Winona mentioned.
Summary: Kirk's too damn beautiful, Christopher Pike thinks at least twice in his life.
Warnings/Spoilers: For the end of Star Trek XI. Slash, nonmonogamy.
All Thanks To:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lomedet for alpha reading and petronelle for beta reading.
Based On: Two prompts from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
st_xi_kink: "George Kirk/Captain Pike - George's Bachelor Party" and "Pike/Kirk - Kirk's willing to sleep his way to the top".
Disclaimer: None of these characters or their settings belong to me.
Title from George Michael's "Father Figure", because I have never claimed to be subtle.
George was too damn beautiful, Chris Pike thought, glaring down into his foamy beer. Two meters behind him and a million light years out of reach, Lieutenant George Kirk of the U.S.S. Kelvin stood surrounded by a clump of friends, enjoying his bachelor-cum-shipping-out party.
It wasn't that Chris wasn't happy for him, wasn't honestly delighted to see George happy. Winona was great, vivacious and brilliant, and she and George made a handsome couple, not least when George stood exactly the way he was standing now, head tilted back, shoulders square in his uniform shirt, blue eyes shining even under the flat light of the old-fashioned bar's LED tracklamps.
Chris risked a masochistic glance over his shoulder, and promptly regretted it. George exceeded all imagination, laughing as everyone hung raptly on his words, muscle flexing under his sleeve as he gestured expansively and the gaggle roared. "Time to go, Pike," Chris muttered to himself, and finished the last few swallows of beer. First, though, he had to say goodbye before George left for five long years, and sincerely wish him well.
As ever, no battle plan survives first contact. Chris managed to tell George goodbye, but he couldn't leave when George gripped his shoulders and glowed at him like a human tractor beam, saying, "Let me at least walk you out!" Someone catcalled drunkenly about party favors, and Chris's cheeks and ears started to burn, but George laughed it off without a backwards glance as he slung a strong arm around Chris's shoulders and led him outside.
San Francisco's night air blew cool and moist across Chris's heated ears. George headed away from the sidewalk, leading Chris around the corner of the bar into the little dark alley bars always seemed to be equipped with. Chris set his back to the wall as George turned to face him, low light silhouetting the perfect curve of his hair, a warm flush high on his cheeks. "Hey, Cadet Pike," George said, smirking gently, and he was only an inch taller, just a few years older, but Chris's heart pounded with uncertainty and he stared up like a stupid child. "Hey, what's this about your leaving my party?"
"Kirk," was all Chris managed, excuses slipping away under George's pale warm eyes. He tried to steady himself with a deep breath, but all he inhaled was faint maltiness, skin-warmth, George leaning closer. George closed his eyes, lashes long on his rosy cheekbones, and kissed Chris, gently and slowly, lips soft and shut.
Chris didn't even realize he'd closed his own eyes until George let his mouth go; he looked up again, feeling the narrow gap of cool air between them, trying not to shiver like a kid. He wasn't a kid, he wasn't a virgin, but George --- George smiled at him, a little cocky and just too damn beautiful, lightly pressing one finger under his chin. "You weren't going to say anything?"
When they'd met Chris was immediately attracted and George was already engaged, so, no. "I--" Finding a joke, he tossed it out like a shield. "This isn't an approved interrogation method."
George laughed right through that, curling his hand around Chris's jaw. "It's not a standard subject." Blunt fingernails lightly scraped through the short hair on Chris's nape, sending an electric tingle straight into him. "It's my bachelor party, Chris," George said, eyebrows tilting wickedly, smile shifting into an inviting grin, "I can have a present. Got permission and everything." He cradled Chris's face in both hands and kissed him again, pressing their bodies together, sweeping his tongue between Chris's unresisting lips. George was so warm, he tasted so good Chris nearly moaned, feeling firm muscle under his squeezing hands, George's hard thigh between his, George's tender mouth moving on his until his lips buzzed.
George pulled away, leaving Chris panting, and this time Chris almost lunged at him for more. His face was much too open, he could see it in George's easygoing smile, but it took him a long moment before he could peel his hands off George's arms and make himself grin back, until George squeezed his cheek a little and slid an arm around his shoulders again. "West Housing's not far from here," Chris suggested with a reasonably nonchalant smile and a thumping heart, and George squeezed his shoulders and led him back to the cadets' quarters.
They walked back quietly, George facing forward, smiling at the world; Chris kept glancing sideways at him, hardly daring to breathe, brain turning over. George really did deserve a present, something better than a narrow cadet bed. Chris considered his comfortable desk chair, left to him by his last roommate, and the mental image of how George would look sitting in it, from a vantage point between his knees, made Chris bite the inside of his lip to keep from rearing up and kissing George out there in the middle of campus.
When they arrived, Chris's room was bright with campus lights from outside, so he left the window untinted, curled his hand around George's bicep and tugged him towards the desk. George smiled as Chris pressed him into the chair, kissed Chris as he pulled his fingers through George's crisp hair and warmth swelled in his chest. When Chris reminded himself to stop being selfish and started to back off, George cupped his face in both hands again, fingers framing his jaw, pulled him closer and kissed him hungrily until the expanding heat inside him broke loose in a low moan.
Hearing that noise come out of his mouth, Chris blushed hard, and George chuckled against his lips as he eased off. "Still in uniform?" George asked, tucking his fingertips under Chris's collar.
Pulse pounding against George's thumb, Chris nodded. "Yeah, I, you have to get back to your party--"
George waved dismissively in that general direction and deliberately slumped in the chair, letting his knees fall further apart. Chris tucked himself between George's long thighs, sliding his hands down the planes of George's face and his corded neck until George caught them. He pressed them flat to his chest, and even through layers of uniform, Chris could feel the faint thud of his heart. "Chris, what do you want tonight?"
Cheeks burning, Chris tipped his face down, trying to look eager, avoiding George's eyes. Starfleet uniforms could camouflage a surprising amount, but George's trousers couldn't hide the tent he was pitching. If he'd just let Chris show him--
"Chris," George repeated firmly, that commanding tone tipping his head back up. "Tell me."
Chris was helpless to disobey. "I, dammit, George, I want you, so damn much." He pressed his eyes shut against the beautiful gleam in George's, the way they saw straight through him. "I want to suck your cock, I want you to fuck me, I've wanted you forever." His breath ran out, and he finally shut his mouth on the inhale.
"That sounds like a plan," George said, voice warm and amused. "A naked plan." He let go of Chris's hands to unbutton his collar and pull both shirts over his head. Chris wanted to stare at George, his sturdy planes and muscular grace, but George smirked and made a little encouraging gesture, so Chris fell into motion, stripping as fast as he could, kicking off his boots as he yanked at his uniform. George rocked his hips up to push his trousers off, musky warmth rising off his skin, and Chris grabbed his ankle, pressing his watering mouth to George's thigh as he tugged the boot off. He meant to get the other boot too, but George's skin tasted too good, hair raspy on his tongue over the swell of hot muscle, and George groaned, "Yeah, yeah, come on."
Chris reached up, trailing his fingers along the line of hair down George's perfect abdomen, sucking kisses over the tender skin of George's inner thigh. He mouthed George's balls, feeling George shudder, and George cupped the back of his neck, squeezing lightly. "Oh, you're so good," George moaned, voice cracking, fingers sliding into Chris's hair. "Yes, Chris, please." Every word sent new tremors down Chris's spine, heat and hunger coiling in his belly as his mouth met his hand around George's cock.
"Oh," George moaned, and "damn," and "yes, come on, yes," throwing his head back and tilting his hips up, thrusting shallowly. Chris wanted to open his eyes and watch, but George was heavy and hot in his mouth, flooding his senses until he needed to be blind for this, couldn't handle any more input. He wanted to touch his own cock, throbbingly hard against his stomach, but he couldn't peel his free hand off George's thigh even before George clutched his wrist, fingers squeezing in time with the rhythm he was setting.
His lips burning, his tongue pressed down, Chris moaned, pushing into it until George's cock nudged the back of his throat. "Fuck me, yeah, you're wonderful, Chris, you're amazing..." Chris choked and swallowed, loving the dizziness, George's breathless voice in his ears, George shaking with every lick and stroke Chris lavished on him. "Your mouth, oh, suck me, suck just like that, so hot, so perfect..." George's voice slid under Chris's skin, crackling down his untouched nerves as if he could feel this all over his body, the pulse in his wrist hammering under George's hand.
He finally had George, Chris thought between one snatched breath and the next, as he ran his tongue behind the head of George's cock and George swore fervently. He finally had this gorgeous man, under his hands, in his mouth. He'd dreamed about him, he'd fantasized at random inappropriate moments under George's smile or late at night while jerking off, and the reality was vastly better. Red flickered behind his eyelids and he could've done this all night, but Chris reminded himself this was still George's party, that it wasn't fair to tease. Wetting his fingers in his mouth, he slid them down under George's balls, cradling them in his palm. "Mmm, oh, okay," George murmured, tilting his hips further, running his fingers through Chris's hair. "Okay, yeah -- whoa," as Chris pushed two seeking fingertips behind his balls. "Oh fuck, oh yes, there!" George bucked, writhing between Chris's mouth and his hand; Chris managed not to choke, triumph flaring hot in his chest, and thought a silent cheer.
George's fingers shook on Chris's neck, his shouts turning wild and wordless; strong and beautiful, he fucked Chris's face, and the only thing Chris wanted more was to feel George come, pulsing in his mouth, heady spurts on his tongue. He sucked gracelessly, as hard as he could, aiming with George towards one goal, and when George stuttered, "Chris, Chris, I'm gonna--" Chris swallowed around him, feeling a swooping thrill like flying when George cried out above him. George clutched his head with both hands and Chris pushed into the desperate pressure, not caring that he was seriously running out of air, thinking, 'Come on, George, now.'
But George reversed the pull, pushed Chris off him with a loud pop, and grabbed his wrist. Chris coughed in empty air and looked up as George went rigid, teeth denting his lip, eyes closed tightly. His cock pulsed against Chris's cheek, and Chris should've ducked away but he didn't as George came on his cheek and neck and shoulder, until George dragged in a ragged breath and wheezed laughter before he was even done. "Chris," he panted, his eyes opening slowly, his pupils blown black within thin blue rings. "Oh, God, Chris, why didn't you move?"
Swiping at his smeared cheek, Chris suddenly bubbled over with laughter; he tipped forward, dropping his forehead to George's thigh as George slumped bonelessly. "I couldn't," he answered. "I wanted--"
"Oh, you." George's fingers tightened in Chris's hair. "Wanted me to get you all sticky, huh?" Tensing for action, George tumbled out of the chair. "You never do anything halfway," he muttered and licked Chris's shoulder, gripping Chris's arm to hold him steady as he moaned in surprise. "Never." Chris fell back as George pushed forward, mouth hot and wet on his throat, bearing him down to the floor; he wrapped his arms around George's back, hooked a leg around his waist, and the first press of George's hard belly on his aching cock was like weightlessness, vertigo-inducing.
George's hand wrapping firmly around his cock was like a benediction. "Oh, God, George," Chris gasped, his throat tingling, barely muffling himself against George's surging shoulder.
"Come on," George growled, stroking fast, their chests slip-sliding, his other hand pinning Chris's elbow. "Come on, look at me."
Chris's head turned as if he weren't controlling it, his gasps spilling out loud between them. George smiled, letting go his arm to slide that hand down his skin; he pressed two knuckles behind Chris's balls, hard enough to send a spike of sensation through him, watching as his neck arched and his mouth fell open. "There you go. Got lube?"
It was too far away to reach without getting up, and Chris felt like he'd spin off into space without George's sturdy weight holding him down, like his heart would explode if George let go of his cock. He shook his head, and George's smile tilted before he kissed him lightly. "Then I won't finger you, but you can come like this, right?" Chris tried to say "yes," but George stroked harder as he pushed again until Chris cried out, throbbing inside despite having nothing in him. His vision dimmed, his eyes trying to close, George's eyes and smile shining over him. "Yeah, Chris. Come for me."
Chris groped up, burying his fingers in George's hair, and George laughed as Chris pulled his head down, laughed into Chris's mouth as he stroked and pressed. Chris writhed between his hands, muffling himself with the kiss as his lips buzzed. It was like he'd contracted George's noisiness, every doubled pulse of sensation throbbing through him from his depths upwards, pulling louder and louder moans out of him. George pinned Chris's head against the carpet, let him suck on his tongue, rocked against him and weighed him down as Chris arched nearly off the floor, shouting and coming in long spurts all over George's belly.
Drifting down, Chris started to shake, and George wrapped strong arms around him. He couldn't make himself care about how smeared they both were as he hid his face in George's shoulder, as George murmured, "Yeah, I've got you, you're fine, you're good." Chris blew out a long breath, emptied of everything except spreading contentment, his eyelids heavy as he dragged his mouth along George's skin and just breathed.
Sometime later, George started laughing from across the room, and Chris blinked awake into the overhead light. "You've got a perfectly good bed over here," George said, pulling Chris up by his arms, making him stagger to his feet. "Starfleet issue, after all." George pushed him backwards into bed, and Chris tugged on his shoulders, but George leaned over him, kissing him without lying down. Which made sense, so Chris told himself not to feel disappointed, made himself smile. George's answering smile was heartachingly sweet, and at least he sat as he ran his knuckles down from Chris's ear, along the line of his jaw and back again. "I have to --" Chris nodded before George could finish. "Standard dorm layout, right?"
"Bathroom's four down." Chris sighed, turning on his side, tacky and sticky and tired, warm under George's hand. "Need a towel?"
"No, I'm good." George's smile quirked up sideways. "Sorry I didn't fuck you."
Chris groaned, blushing, rolling his face into his pillow. "That's unfair, Kirk, using a statement made under orders against me like that."
"Under orders, huh?" George tugged on Chris's ear. "Follow every order that promptly, and fully," he drawled, "and enthusiastically," and Chris blushed harder, "and you'll make an exceptionally effective officer."
"I intend to," Chris murmured, reaching over to rest a hand on George's thigh as George ran fingers through his hair.
After a few moments George said, "I really have to go," but still didn't move. Chris wondered vaguely if he were supposed to push him; then George added, looking out the window, "Winona's going to laugh at me."
"Of course you have to tell her," Chris said in a decently even voice, but he couldn't keep himself from tensing nervously.
George skimmed reassuring fingertips over his scalp. "She didn't just let me loose," he said, chuckling. "She knows I need more direction than that, so she gave me a list."
"A list," Chris echoed, though his lungs felt like they might implode.
"Yeah." George smiled at Chris, gripping his hair just hard enough to shake his head lightly. "Your name's at the top." He grinned as he watched Chris's face, as Chris dragged in a deep relieved breath, and when Chris punched his thigh he laughed. "So, Pike," George said more briskly, "keep in touch, all right? We should have just enough time to get back here and see you get your Master's."
"Okay." Chris couldn't help grinning to match George; at least a yawn made him pause before he said anything too stupid. "Okay. Tell Winona I said hi."
"Of course." George got up and kissed Chris, light and gentle, and Chris didn't hold onto him. "Get some sleep, Cadet. I'll see you in five."
Years, not hours, but now they didn't seem quite so long. "See you then, Lieutenant." George shut off the light, and Chris obediently closed his eyes.
************************
Jim Kirk is too damn beautiful, Admiral Pike thinks as he looks down at Starfleet's newest and youngest captain, who is currently grinning up from between his knees, broad hands crumpling his dress uniform pants. "You don't have to earn your commission like this," he tells the boy with blazing blue eyes, his mouth still buzzing from a fierce kiss. "You've already got it."
Jim shrugs negligently, squeezing in pulses as he slides his hands inwards. Pike's thighs may not carry his weight right now, but they feel like their old muscular selves under Jim's hands. "What if I just want to do this?" He grins, bright and cocky, and something reels in Pike's mind. "Say thank you for everything?"
Pike pushes that dizziness back. He should push Jim's hands off his thighs. "What if I told you to stop?"
Jim tilts his head back further, as if baring his throat, but there's no surrender in his bright eyes. "If you wanted me to stop, you wouldn't've let me kiss you." He bends that strong neck and nuzzles Pike, his nape covered in short sandy hairs, his nose sharp and his breath hot through the insufficient armor of uniform pants.
Pike's breath comes short, and he can't tell himself it's his injuries; he envisions Jim opening his fly with teeth alone, and doesn't doubt the boy knows how. "Kirk," he says, peeling his hands off the arms of his chair to cradle Jim's face between them, sweeping his thumbs over the tender skin of Jim's cheekbones. "Jim." He meant to add 'stop', Pike tells himself, right up until Jim looks up again. The smirk is all in Jim's eyes because his full bottom lip is already dropping, his mouth opening for the next kiss he sees coming before Pike even feels himself leaning down.
At least Pike manages to chuckle as he kisses Jim again, but Jim just moans shamelessly into his mouth. It hits Pike like a gulp of whiskey, curling into his brain, stiffening his cock, and he should push Jim away but he pulls him closer as Jim's tongue slides over his. Pushy fucking arrogant boy, Pike thinks, tilting Jim's head back, shoving into the kiss, and Jim bends his neck bonelessly as he moans again, his fingers nimbly opening Pike's fly.
Pike thinks of pushing Jim to the floor, of laying him out on his back and fucking him into it with those moans echoing in his ears, but if he were up for that there's a lot that would be different and he'd never be allowing this to happen. Jim pulls back, too strong for Pike to hold if he wanted to, his neck a column of muscle between Pike's hands. "See, you want this," he says with that perfect hit-me-or-kiss-me smirk. "And I want you to have it." Jim's face softens a fraction, something earnest flickering in his eyes as he adds, "You're why I'm even here."
Memory whirls in Pike's brain as his breath catches. It's the earnestness that makes Jim look like his father, that gives his blue eyes the same shine George's had. Pike pushes his fingers through Jim's clipped hair, watching long lashes shadow those eyes until they're smoky dark and no one's but his again. There's a lot of fair-haired Winona in Jim's face too, and a hardness neither of his parents had when Pike knew them a lifetime ago. Jim is his own man, and the new captain of Pike's Enterprise.
Also, his fingers are in Pike's fly, wrapping around his cock, tugging it free of his underwear with more triumph than grace. Pike tips his head back, closing his eyes, easing his grip on Jim down to the boy's broad shoulders. "Oh, go ahead." He knows when he's beat.
"Don't you wanna watch?" Jim asks as he leans in, bracing one hand on Pike's hip, the other a ripple of long fingers around his cock.
"I think I can tell what you're doing," Pike says while his voice is still steady, curling one hand around the back of Jim's neck, almost but not quite suppressing the hiss of pleasure when Jim sucks him in. The boy slams him like a shot, straight down, that irreverent mouth so hot and tight around him Pike has to surrender a groan. Jim tugs Pike's clothes down his hips as he rocks forward, and Pike lets go to brace his hands on the chair arms and push up, helping Jim half-undress him and thrusting even deeper into his mouth. Jim swallows around him and Pike shudders so hard he falls back into the chair.
He rolls his head back again, staring at his white and blameless office ceiling, Jim's hair bristly-soft under his hand, Jim's tongue flicking his slit, Jim's cheerful moans buzzing through him. Jim sucks like he's pulling something out of Pike besides a simple orgasm, his limbs growing that much heavier as heat pools under Jim's mobile mouth. Pike lets his thoughts come apart under the sensory barrage of Jim Kirk blowing him and stroking him, lascivious wet noise and a firm damp hand; as his breathing gets harsher, fragments of memories drift up with the rising pleasure, the canny look on Jim's battered face in that Iowa bar, the tilted grin he inherited from George, his insistent fast talk on the Enterprise. Pike imagines Jim charming diplomats and smiling smoothly at alien leaders with this slick lush mouth, and his ripple of laughter breaks into a louder groan.
A tremor thrums down Jim's neck under Pike's hand, and he slides his fingers up Pike's thigh, pressing his head against Pike's belly as he pushes deeper, sucking harder, bobbing like he can breathe through his ears. It's not particularly soon but it's not particularly long either until Pike has to push at Jim's shoulder, clenching his hand into a fist behind Jim's head so he won't shove him down, as if he could push any harder than the boy's pushing himself. "I'm, I'm--," he gasps, shoving desperately, but Jim's answer is to grip his hips tightly and swallow hard around him, again, a third time, a fourth. Pike grits his teeth rather than risk saying either name as he comes down Jim's throat, staring at a blank ceiling and the stars flying across his vision.
Jim slumps back coughing, and Pike ruthlessly suppresses any sympathy for his breathlessness, presses fingers into his shoulders and tugs. But Jim opens his eyes, smudges the back of his hand across his wet grin, and says, "Wait, hey wait," as he unfastens his Academy-red top.
"Is this that kind of party, Kirk?" Pike asks, hitching his pants back in place, because now that he's not being distracted by impending orgasm he feels them bunching beneath his thighs. The weak arm slows that side down but he manages it under Jim's eyes, without his help. The boy just smiles and watches steadily as he peels out of his uniform top and the black cadet's shirt beneath it.
Bare-chested and brandishing the shirt, Jim leans up and grips the chair's arms. "Permission to come aboard, sir?" he asks, eyes wickedly sparkling.
Pike can't help but laugh. "Come here already." He should be doing approximately a thousand other, grimmer things than letting Jim Kirk literally climb into his lap, straddle his thighs and drape both arms around his neck. "Just watch the uniform."
"That's what the shirt's for." Jim drops it between them as he kisses Pike lushly, his mouth slick and salty, his fingers messing up Pike's hair. "See, I do plan ahead."
"Somehow I doubt that," Pike says, their noses nearly touching, Jim's grin wide and a little hectic. He closes his eyes against those too-bright blue ones, and as they kiss again he swats Jim's hand away from his fly. Pike opens Jim's pants with his good hand, pushing the other up the firm muscle of his chest, thumbing his nipple, tracing his pulse. This kiss is urgent, devastating, making Pike almost wish he were younger. Or perhaps he'd wish Kirk less painfully young, smooth and unmarked under Pike's hands, his stubble finely prickly. Jim thrusts into his fist, moaning demandingly, and Pike tries to grip the back of his neck before he remembers his new limitations, his fingers barely managing to press Jim's nape.
He needs air and more hands. He pulls back, breathing hard through his nose, and Jim drags his hot mouth down Pike's jaw, gasping unabashedly against his skin, groaning a protest too clear for words when Pike lets go of his cock. He tosses his head up as Pike grabs his wrist, opening his mouth to say something smartassed.
That mouth stays open, full lips quivering, as Pike licks Kirk's hand, tasting the boy's fresh sweat, tasting himself. He closes his lips around two fingers and sucks, and when Jim stammers, "Uh, wow," Pike flushes hot with triumph the way he used to blush when he was the kid.
However, Jim has a smarter mouth than he ever did, and those tawny eyebrows are tilting towards mischief again, so before Jim can come up with any comments Pike presses that hand down, wrapping it around Jim's cock, interlacing their fingers. "Touch yourself," he breathes into Jim's ear, watching the outer curve flush red. "On my mark."
Jim shudders in Pike's lap, top to toes. "Yes, sir," he says, voice low and rough. Pike sets him a slower rhythm than what he probably uses, a longer stroke; Jim's fingers pause once under his hand, then never hesitate again. Pike pulls his other hand along Jim's cheek, and the boy turns his head to catch those fingers in his mouth, sucking them hard as he fixes his gaze on Pike's face.
Pike watches Jim's mouth move around his fingers for far longer than strictly necessary, sense-memory echoing down his half-burnt nerves as he remembers his cock's turn under those lips and that tongue. Eventually he pulls both his hands free; Jim's eyes flare wider, but at the briefest of nods he keeps stroking, keeps the rhythm. Pike pushes Jim's pants down enough, squeezing one impressively firm cheek with his strong hand, sliding the other still wet between those cheeks and beneath. He's not really going anywhere with this, but the wet makes his fingers slide better over hot crinkled skin. Jim grins openmouthed, his eyes fluttering half-closed, rocking his hips harder between Pike's hand and his own. "Yeah," he sighs, tilting his head back. "Yeah, fuck me, yeah."
Jim's voice crackling under his skin, Pike presses firmly, just this side of in; he trails his good hand back up Jim's spine and grips his nape, tipping his head further back to bite the apple of his throat. Pike lets himself press his teeth in, listening to Jim gasp, feeling him shudder. "Oh, God, oh God, sir, sir, sir," Jim moans like the words mean the same, and Pike needs to feel Jim's flesh give resiliently under his teeth, biting up his throat and jaw, licking into his mouth.
Jim moans continuously, loud, open-throated, bucking between his hand and Pike's, and Pike gasps and has to pull out of the kiss, too distracted to pace his breathing. Too distracted by this boy for all kinds of sense, ever since they met. Jim groans, looking at him out of shadowed eyes, something bottomless opening behind them, and Pike leans forward to nip his ear and murmur into it, knowing what Jim needs to hear.
"Come on, boy," he growls, and Jim presses his shaking open mouth just above Pike's collar, muffling himself against Pike's throat. "Come on, you can follow my orders, can't you? I know you can do what I tell you. Come on, son, you're a good boy, my good boy. Come for me." That does it; Jim cries out like he's in agony and clutches Pike's hair, shaking hard enough to make the chair's shocks squeak in protest. For a long moment afterward, Jim melts against him, sitting on his hand, head heavy on his shoulder; while he can, Pike kisses his glowing ear and whispers, "You did well."
Soon enough, with a self-conscious chuckle, Jim lifts his head, gathers himself up, and backs carefully off Pike's lap, bringing the shirt with him. He wipes himself off and hitches up his pants, then offers it to Pike, who gives in and lets his mouth twitch as he scrubs his hands as best he can. Jim laughs again, a delighted bark, rolls up the wrecked shirt into the smallest possible bundle, and stows it in his pocket. He brushes his hands over his head and rubs the bites on his jaw, looking rather like he won a really pleasant fight.
He shifts as if he's about to reach for Pike's hair too, but a look stops him. Instead he folds his arms, and they regard each other for a few moments. Pike's thighs throb where Kirk was sitting on them, he really needs to wash up and drink something strongly alcoholic, and he thinks he may never have seen before how clearly Jim is like and is not his father.
Jim takes a breath, looks into the distance as he considers one question, shrugs, and chooses another. "Am I?" he asks quietly. "A good boy?"
Pike considers refusing to answer a question based on something said during sex, precisely until the smirk starts to unfurl at the corner of Jim's mouth. "You're a good man," he says, watching Jim actually listen. "And you'll be a good captain, because they'll need you to be."
Jim nods, once, soberly. Then he grins, incorrigible as always. "This time tomorrow?"
Pike doesn't smile. "This time tomorrow, bring a datapadd and your brain. We have a lot to go over before you can take command of the Enterprise."
From the rueful tilt of his mouth, Kirk paid attention to everything Pike didn't say, but his eyes are still shining. "See you then, sir," he says, his salute picture-perfect, and lets himself out.
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: George Kirk/Chris Pike & Admiral Pike/Jim Kirk. George/Winona mentioned.
Summary: Kirk's too damn beautiful, Christopher Pike thinks at least twice in his life.
Warnings/Spoilers: For the end of Star Trek XI. Slash, nonmonogamy.
All Thanks To:
lomedet for alpha reading and petronelle for beta reading.Based On: Two prompts from
st_xi_kink: "George Kirk/Captain Pike - George's Bachelor Party" and "Pike/Kirk - Kirk's willing to sleep his way to the top". Disclaimer: None of these characters or their settings belong to me.
Title from George Michael's "Father Figure", because I have never claimed to be subtle.
George was too damn beautiful, Chris Pike thought, glaring down into his foamy beer. Two meters behind him and a million light years out of reach, Lieutenant George Kirk of the U.S.S. Kelvin stood surrounded by a clump of friends, enjoying his bachelor-cum-shipping-out party.
It wasn't that Chris wasn't happy for him, wasn't honestly delighted to see George happy. Winona was great, vivacious and brilliant, and she and George made a handsome couple, not least when George stood exactly the way he was standing now, head tilted back, shoulders square in his uniform shirt, blue eyes shining even under the flat light of the old-fashioned bar's LED tracklamps.
Chris risked a masochistic glance over his shoulder, and promptly regretted it. George exceeded all imagination, laughing as everyone hung raptly on his words, muscle flexing under his sleeve as he gestured expansively and the gaggle roared. "Time to go, Pike," Chris muttered to himself, and finished the last few swallows of beer. First, though, he had to say goodbye before George left for five long years, and sincerely wish him well.
As ever, no battle plan survives first contact. Chris managed to tell George goodbye, but he couldn't leave when George gripped his shoulders and glowed at him like a human tractor beam, saying, "Let me at least walk you out!" Someone catcalled drunkenly about party favors, and Chris's cheeks and ears started to burn, but George laughed it off without a backwards glance as he slung a strong arm around Chris's shoulders and led him outside.
San Francisco's night air blew cool and moist across Chris's heated ears. George headed away from the sidewalk, leading Chris around the corner of the bar into the little dark alley bars always seemed to be equipped with. Chris set his back to the wall as George turned to face him, low light silhouetting the perfect curve of his hair, a warm flush high on his cheeks. "Hey, Cadet Pike," George said, smirking gently, and he was only an inch taller, just a few years older, but Chris's heart pounded with uncertainty and he stared up like a stupid child. "Hey, what's this about your leaving my party?"
"Kirk," was all Chris managed, excuses slipping away under George's pale warm eyes. He tried to steady himself with a deep breath, but all he inhaled was faint maltiness, skin-warmth, George leaning closer. George closed his eyes, lashes long on his rosy cheekbones, and kissed Chris, gently and slowly, lips soft and shut.
Chris didn't even realize he'd closed his own eyes until George let his mouth go; he looked up again, feeling the narrow gap of cool air between them, trying not to shiver like a kid. He wasn't a kid, he wasn't a virgin, but George --- George smiled at him, a little cocky and just too damn beautiful, lightly pressing one finger under his chin. "You weren't going to say anything?"
When they'd met Chris was immediately attracted and George was already engaged, so, no. "I--" Finding a joke, he tossed it out like a shield. "This isn't an approved interrogation method."
George laughed right through that, curling his hand around Chris's jaw. "It's not a standard subject." Blunt fingernails lightly scraped through the short hair on Chris's nape, sending an electric tingle straight into him. "It's my bachelor party, Chris," George said, eyebrows tilting wickedly, smile shifting into an inviting grin, "I can have a present. Got permission and everything." He cradled Chris's face in both hands and kissed him again, pressing their bodies together, sweeping his tongue between Chris's unresisting lips. George was so warm, he tasted so good Chris nearly moaned, feeling firm muscle under his squeezing hands, George's hard thigh between his, George's tender mouth moving on his until his lips buzzed.
George pulled away, leaving Chris panting, and this time Chris almost lunged at him for more. His face was much too open, he could see it in George's easygoing smile, but it took him a long moment before he could peel his hands off George's arms and make himself grin back, until George squeezed his cheek a little and slid an arm around his shoulders again. "West Housing's not far from here," Chris suggested with a reasonably nonchalant smile and a thumping heart, and George squeezed his shoulders and led him back to the cadets' quarters.
They walked back quietly, George facing forward, smiling at the world; Chris kept glancing sideways at him, hardly daring to breathe, brain turning over. George really did deserve a present, something better than a narrow cadet bed. Chris considered his comfortable desk chair, left to him by his last roommate, and the mental image of how George would look sitting in it, from a vantage point between his knees, made Chris bite the inside of his lip to keep from rearing up and kissing George out there in the middle of campus.
When they arrived, Chris's room was bright with campus lights from outside, so he left the window untinted, curled his hand around George's bicep and tugged him towards the desk. George smiled as Chris pressed him into the chair, kissed Chris as he pulled his fingers through George's crisp hair and warmth swelled in his chest. When Chris reminded himself to stop being selfish and started to back off, George cupped his face in both hands again, fingers framing his jaw, pulled him closer and kissed him hungrily until the expanding heat inside him broke loose in a low moan.
Hearing that noise come out of his mouth, Chris blushed hard, and George chuckled against his lips as he eased off. "Still in uniform?" George asked, tucking his fingertips under Chris's collar.
Pulse pounding against George's thumb, Chris nodded. "Yeah, I, you have to get back to your party--"
George waved dismissively in that general direction and deliberately slumped in the chair, letting his knees fall further apart. Chris tucked himself between George's long thighs, sliding his hands down the planes of George's face and his corded neck until George caught them. He pressed them flat to his chest, and even through layers of uniform, Chris could feel the faint thud of his heart. "Chris, what do you want tonight?"
Cheeks burning, Chris tipped his face down, trying to look eager, avoiding George's eyes. Starfleet uniforms could camouflage a surprising amount, but George's trousers couldn't hide the tent he was pitching. If he'd just let Chris show him--
"Chris," George repeated firmly, that commanding tone tipping his head back up. "Tell me."
Chris was helpless to disobey. "I, dammit, George, I want you, so damn much." He pressed his eyes shut against the beautiful gleam in George's, the way they saw straight through him. "I want to suck your cock, I want you to fuck me, I've wanted you forever." His breath ran out, and he finally shut his mouth on the inhale.
"That sounds like a plan," George said, voice warm and amused. "A naked plan." He let go of Chris's hands to unbutton his collar and pull both shirts over his head. Chris wanted to stare at George, his sturdy planes and muscular grace, but George smirked and made a little encouraging gesture, so Chris fell into motion, stripping as fast as he could, kicking off his boots as he yanked at his uniform. George rocked his hips up to push his trousers off, musky warmth rising off his skin, and Chris grabbed his ankle, pressing his watering mouth to George's thigh as he tugged the boot off. He meant to get the other boot too, but George's skin tasted too good, hair raspy on his tongue over the swell of hot muscle, and George groaned, "Yeah, yeah, come on."
Chris reached up, trailing his fingers along the line of hair down George's perfect abdomen, sucking kisses over the tender skin of George's inner thigh. He mouthed George's balls, feeling George shudder, and George cupped the back of his neck, squeezing lightly. "Oh, you're so good," George moaned, voice cracking, fingers sliding into Chris's hair. "Yes, Chris, please." Every word sent new tremors down Chris's spine, heat and hunger coiling in his belly as his mouth met his hand around George's cock.
"Oh," George moaned, and "damn," and "yes, come on, yes," throwing his head back and tilting his hips up, thrusting shallowly. Chris wanted to open his eyes and watch, but George was heavy and hot in his mouth, flooding his senses until he needed to be blind for this, couldn't handle any more input. He wanted to touch his own cock, throbbingly hard against his stomach, but he couldn't peel his free hand off George's thigh even before George clutched his wrist, fingers squeezing in time with the rhythm he was setting.
His lips burning, his tongue pressed down, Chris moaned, pushing into it until George's cock nudged the back of his throat. "Fuck me, yeah, you're wonderful, Chris, you're amazing..." Chris choked and swallowed, loving the dizziness, George's breathless voice in his ears, George shaking with every lick and stroke Chris lavished on him. "Your mouth, oh, suck me, suck just like that, so hot, so perfect..." George's voice slid under Chris's skin, crackling down his untouched nerves as if he could feel this all over his body, the pulse in his wrist hammering under George's hand.
He finally had George, Chris thought between one snatched breath and the next, as he ran his tongue behind the head of George's cock and George swore fervently. He finally had this gorgeous man, under his hands, in his mouth. He'd dreamed about him, he'd fantasized at random inappropriate moments under George's smile or late at night while jerking off, and the reality was vastly better. Red flickered behind his eyelids and he could've done this all night, but Chris reminded himself this was still George's party, that it wasn't fair to tease. Wetting his fingers in his mouth, he slid them down under George's balls, cradling them in his palm. "Mmm, oh, okay," George murmured, tilting his hips further, running his fingers through Chris's hair. "Okay, yeah -- whoa," as Chris pushed two seeking fingertips behind his balls. "Oh fuck, oh yes, there!" George bucked, writhing between Chris's mouth and his hand; Chris managed not to choke, triumph flaring hot in his chest, and thought a silent cheer.
George's fingers shook on Chris's neck, his shouts turning wild and wordless; strong and beautiful, he fucked Chris's face, and the only thing Chris wanted more was to feel George come, pulsing in his mouth, heady spurts on his tongue. He sucked gracelessly, as hard as he could, aiming with George towards one goal, and when George stuttered, "Chris, Chris, I'm gonna--" Chris swallowed around him, feeling a swooping thrill like flying when George cried out above him. George clutched his head with both hands and Chris pushed into the desperate pressure, not caring that he was seriously running out of air, thinking, 'Come on, George, now.'
But George reversed the pull, pushed Chris off him with a loud pop, and grabbed his wrist. Chris coughed in empty air and looked up as George went rigid, teeth denting his lip, eyes closed tightly. His cock pulsed against Chris's cheek, and Chris should've ducked away but he didn't as George came on his cheek and neck and shoulder, until George dragged in a ragged breath and wheezed laughter before he was even done. "Chris," he panted, his eyes opening slowly, his pupils blown black within thin blue rings. "Oh, God, Chris, why didn't you move?"
Swiping at his smeared cheek, Chris suddenly bubbled over with laughter; he tipped forward, dropping his forehead to George's thigh as George slumped bonelessly. "I couldn't," he answered. "I wanted--"
"Oh, you." George's fingers tightened in Chris's hair. "Wanted me to get you all sticky, huh?" Tensing for action, George tumbled out of the chair. "You never do anything halfway," he muttered and licked Chris's shoulder, gripping Chris's arm to hold him steady as he moaned in surprise. "Never." Chris fell back as George pushed forward, mouth hot and wet on his throat, bearing him down to the floor; he wrapped his arms around George's back, hooked a leg around his waist, and the first press of George's hard belly on his aching cock was like weightlessness, vertigo-inducing.
George's hand wrapping firmly around his cock was like a benediction. "Oh, God, George," Chris gasped, his throat tingling, barely muffling himself against George's surging shoulder.
"Come on," George growled, stroking fast, their chests slip-sliding, his other hand pinning Chris's elbow. "Come on, look at me."
Chris's head turned as if he weren't controlling it, his gasps spilling out loud between them. George smiled, letting go his arm to slide that hand down his skin; he pressed two knuckles behind Chris's balls, hard enough to send a spike of sensation through him, watching as his neck arched and his mouth fell open. "There you go. Got lube?"
It was too far away to reach without getting up, and Chris felt like he'd spin off into space without George's sturdy weight holding him down, like his heart would explode if George let go of his cock. He shook his head, and George's smile tilted before he kissed him lightly. "Then I won't finger you, but you can come like this, right?" Chris tried to say "yes," but George stroked harder as he pushed again until Chris cried out, throbbing inside despite having nothing in him. His vision dimmed, his eyes trying to close, George's eyes and smile shining over him. "Yeah, Chris. Come for me."
Chris groped up, burying his fingers in George's hair, and George laughed as Chris pulled his head down, laughed into Chris's mouth as he stroked and pressed. Chris writhed between his hands, muffling himself with the kiss as his lips buzzed. It was like he'd contracted George's noisiness, every doubled pulse of sensation throbbing through him from his depths upwards, pulling louder and louder moans out of him. George pinned Chris's head against the carpet, let him suck on his tongue, rocked against him and weighed him down as Chris arched nearly off the floor, shouting and coming in long spurts all over George's belly.
Drifting down, Chris started to shake, and George wrapped strong arms around him. He couldn't make himself care about how smeared they both were as he hid his face in George's shoulder, as George murmured, "Yeah, I've got you, you're fine, you're good." Chris blew out a long breath, emptied of everything except spreading contentment, his eyelids heavy as he dragged his mouth along George's skin and just breathed.
Sometime later, George started laughing from across the room, and Chris blinked awake into the overhead light. "You've got a perfectly good bed over here," George said, pulling Chris up by his arms, making him stagger to his feet. "Starfleet issue, after all." George pushed him backwards into bed, and Chris tugged on his shoulders, but George leaned over him, kissing him without lying down. Which made sense, so Chris told himself not to feel disappointed, made himself smile. George's answering smile was heartachingly sweet, and at least he sat as he ran his knuckles down from Chris's ear, along the line of his jaw and back again. "I have to --" Chris nodded before George could finish. "Standard dorm layout, right?"
"Bathroom's four down." Chris sighed, turning on his side, tacky and sticky and tired, warm under George's hand. "Need a towel?"
"No, I'm good." George's smile quirked up sideways. "Sorry I didn't fuck you."
Chris groaned, blushing, rolling his face into his pillow. "That's unfair, Kirk, using a statement made under orders against me like that."
"Under orders, huh?" George tugged on Chris's ear. "Follow every order that promptly, and fully," he drawled, "and enthusiastically," and Chris blushed harder, "and you'll make an exceptionally effective officer."
"I intend to," Chris murmured, reaching over to rest a hand on George's thigh as George ran fingers through his hair.
After a few moments George said, "I really have to go," but still didn't move. Chris wondered vaguely if he were supposed to push him; then George added, looking out the window, "Winona's going to laugh at me."
"Of course you have to tell her," Chris said in a decently even voice, but he couldn't keep himself from tensing nervously.
George skimmed reassuring fingertips over his scalp. "She didn't just let me loose," he said, chuckling. "She knows I need more direction than that, so she gave me a list."
"A list," Chris echoed, though his lungs felt like they might implode.
"Yeah." George smiled at Chris, gripping his hair just hard enough to shake his head lightly. "Your name's at the top." He grinned as he watched Chris's face, as Chris dragged in a deep relieved breath, and when Chris punched his thigh he laughed. "So, Pike," George said more briskly, "keep in touch, all right? We should have just enough time to get back here and see you get your Master's."
"Okay." Chris couldn't help grinning to match George; at least a yawn made him pause before he said anything too stupid. "Okay. Tell Winona I said hi."
"Of course." George got up and kissed Chris, light and gentle, and Chris didn't hold onto him. "Get some sleep, Cadet. I'll see you in five."
Years, not hours, but now they didn't seem quite so long. "See you then, Lieutenant." George shut off the light, and Chris obediently closed his eyes.
Jim Kirk is too damn beautiful, Admiral Pike thinks as he looks down at Starfleet's newest and youngest captain, who is currently grinning up from between his knees, broad hands crumpling his dress uniform pants. "You don't have to earn your commission like this," he tells the boy with blazing blue eyes, his mouth still buzzing from a fierce kiss. "You've already got it."
Jim shrugs negligently, squeezing in pulses as he slides his hands inwards. Pike's thighs may not carry his weight right now, but they feel like their old muscular selves under Jim's hands. "What if I just want to do this?" He grins, bright and cocky, and something reels in Pike's mind. "Say thank you for everything?"
Pike pushes that dizziness back. He should push Jim's hands off his thighs. "What if I told you to stop?"
Jim tilts his head back further, as if baring his throat, but there's no surrender in his bright eyes. "If you wanted me to stop, you wouldn't've let me kiss you." He bends that strong neck and nuzzles Pike, his nape covered in short sandy hairs, his nose sharp and his breath hot through the insufficient armor of uniform pants.
Pike's breath comes short, and he can't tell himself it's his injuries; he envisions Jim opening his fly with teeth alone, and doesn't doubt the boy knows how. "Kirk," he says, peeling his hands off the arms of his chair to cradle Jim's face between them, sweeping his thumbs over the tender skin of Jim's cheekbones. "Jim." He meant to add 'stop', Pike tells himself, right up until Jim looks up again. The smirk is all in Jim's eyes because his full bottom lip is already dropping, his mouth opening for the next kiss he sees coming before Pike even feels himself leaning down.
At least Pike manages to chuckle as he kisses Jim again, but Jim just moans shamelessly into his mouth. It hits Pike like a gulp of whiskey, curling into his brain, stiffening his cock, and he should push Jim away but he pulls him closer as Jim's tongue slides over his. Pushy fucking arrogant boy, Pike thinks, tilting Jim's head back, shoving into the kiss, and Jim bends his neck bonelessly as he moans again, his fingers nimbly opening Pike's fly.
Pike thinks of pushing Jim to the floor, of laying him out on his back and fucking him into it with those moans echoing in his ears, but if he were up for that there's a lot that would be different and he'd never be allowing this to happen. Jim pulls back, too strong for Pike to hold if he wanted to, his neck a column of muscle between Pike's hands. "See, you want this," he says with that perfect hit-me-or-kiss-me smirk. "And I want you to have it." Jim's face softens a fraction, something earnest flickering in his eyes as he adds, "You're why I'm even here."
Memory whirls in Pike's brain as his breath catches. It's the earnestness that makes Jim look like his father, that gives his blue eyes the same shine George's had. Pike pushes his fingers through Jim's clipped hair, watching long lashes shadow those eyes until they're smoky dark and no one's but his again. There's a lot of fair-haired Winona in Jim's face too, and a hardness neither of his parents had when Pike knew them a lifetime ago. Jim is his own man, and the new captain of Pike's Enterprise.
Also, his fingers are in Pike's fly, wrapping around his cock, tugging it free of his underwear with more triumph than grace. Pike tips his head back, closing his eyes, easing his grip on Jim down to the boy's broad shoulders. "Oh, go ahead." He knows when he's beat.
"Don't you wanna watch?" Jim asks as he leans in, bracing one hand on Pike's hip, the other a ripple of long fingers around his cock.
"I think I can tell what you're doing," Pike says while his voice is still steady, curling one hand around the back of Jim's neck, almost but not quite suppressing the hiss of pleasure when Jim sucks him in. The boy slams him like a shot, straight down, that irreverent mouth so hot and tight around him Pike has to surrender a groan. Jim tugs Pike's clothes down his hips as he rocks forward, and Pike lets go to brace his hands on the chair arms and push up, helping Jim half-undress him and thrusting even deeper into his mouth. Jim swallows around him and Pike shudders so hard he falls back into the chair.
He rolls his head back again, staring at his white and blameless office ceiling, Jim's hair bristly-soft under his hand, Jim's tongue flicking his slit, Jim's cheerful moans buzzing through him. Jim sucks like he's pulling something out of Pike besides a simple orgasm, his limbs growing that much heavier as heat pools under Jim's mobile mouth. Pike lets his thoughts come apart under the sensory barrage of Jim Kirk blowing him and stroking him, lascivious wet noise and a firm damp hand; as his breathing gets harsher, fragments of memories drift up with the rising pleasure, the canny look on Jim's battered face in that Iowa bar, the tilted grin he inherited from George, his insistent fast talk on the Enterprise. Pike imagines Jim charming diplomats and smiling smoothly at alien leaders with this slick lush mouth, and his ripple of laughter breaks into a louder groan.
A tremor thrums down Jim's neck under Pike's hand, and he slides his fingers up Pike's thigh, pressing his head against Pike's belly as he pushes deeper, sucking harder, bobbing like he can breathe through his ears. It's not particularly soon but it's not particularly long either until Pike has to push at Jim's shoulder, clenching his hand into a fist behind Jim's head so he won't shove him down, as if he could push any harder than the boy's pushing himself. "I'm, I'm--," he gasps, shoving desperately, but Jim's answer is to grip his hips tightly and swallow hard around him, again, a third time, a fourth. Pike grits his teeth rather than risk saying either name as he comes down Jim's throat, staring at a blank ceiling and the stars flying across his vision.
Jim slumps back coughing, and Pike ruthlessly suppresses any sympathy for his breathlessness, presses fingers into his shoulders and tugs. But Jim opens his eyes, smudges the back of his hand across his wet grin, and says, "Wait, hey wait," as he unfastens his Academy-red top.
"Is this that kind of party, Kirk?" Pike asks, hitching his pants back in place, because now that he's not being distracted by impending orgasm he feels them bunching beneath his thighs. The weak arm slows that side down but he manages it under Jim's eyes, without his help. The boy just smiles and watches steadily as he peels out of his uniform top and the black cadet's shirt beneath it.
Bare-chested and brandishing the shirt, Jim leans up and grips the chair's arms. "Permission to come aboard, sir?" he asks, eyes wickedly sparkling.
Pike can't help but laugh. "Come here already." He should be doing approximately a thousand other, grimmer things than letting Jim Kirk literally climb into his lap, straddle his thighs and drape both arms around his neck. "Just watch the uniform."
"That's what the shirt's for." Jim drops it between them as he kisses Pike lushly, his mouth slick and salty, his fingers messing up Pike's hair. "See, I do plan ahead."
"Somehow I doubt that," Pike says, their noses nearly touching, Jim's grin wide and a little hectic. He closes his eyes against those too-bright blue ones, and as they kiss again he swats Jim's hand away from his fly. Pike opens Jim's pants with his good hand, pushing the other up the firm muscle of his chest, thumbing his nipple, tracing his pulse. This kiss is urgent, devastating, making Pike almost wish he were younger. Or perhaps he'd wish Kirk less painfully young, smooth and unmarked under Pike's hands, his stubble finely prickly. Jim thrusts into his fist, moaning demandingly, and Pike tries to grip the back of his neck before he remembers his new limitations, his fingers barely managing to press Jim's nape.
He needs air and more hands. He pulls back, breathing hard through his nose, and Jim drags his hot mouth down Pike's jaw, gasping unabashedly against his skin, groaning a protest too clear for words when Pike lets go of his cock. He tosses his head up as Pike grabs his wrist, opening his mouth to say something smartassed.
That mouth stays open, full lips quivering, as Pike licks Kirk's hand, tasting the boy's fresh sweat, tasting himself. He closes his lips around two fingers and sucks, and when Jim stammers, "Uh, wow," Pike flushes hot with triumph the way he used to blush when he was the kid.
However, Jim has a smarter mouth than he ever did, and those tawny eyebrows are tilting towards mischief again, so before Jim can come up with any comments Pike presses that hand down, wrapping it around Jim's cock, interlacing their fingers. "Touch yourself," he breathes into Jim's ear, watching the outer curve flush red. "On my mark."
Jim shudders in Pike's lap, top to toes. "Yes, sir," he says, voice low and rough. Pike sets him a slower rhythm than what he probably uses, a longer stroke; Jim's fingers pause once under his hand, then never hesitate again. Pike pulls his other hand along Jim's cheek, and the boy turns his head to catch those fingers in his mouth, sucking them hard as he fixes his gaze on Pike's face.
Pike watches Jim's mouth move around his fingers for far longer than strictly necessary, sense-memory echoing down his half-burnt nerves as he remembers his cock's turn under those lips and that tongue. Eventually he pulls both his hands free; Jim's eyes flare wider, but at the briefest of nods he keeps stroking, keeps the rhythm. Pike pushes Jim's pants down enough, squeezing one impressively firm cheek with his strong hand, sliding the other still wet between those cheeks and beneath. He's not really going anywhere with this, but the wet makes his fingers slide better over hot crinkled skin. Jim grins openmouthed, his eyes fluttering half-closed, rocking his hips harder between Pike's hand and his own. "Yeah," he sighs, tilting his head back. "Yeah, fuck me, yeah."
Jim's voice crackling under his skin, Pike presses firmly, just this side of in; he trails his good hand back up Jim's spine and grips his nape, tipping his head further back to bite the apple of his throat. Pike lets himself press his teeth in, listening to Jim gasp, feeling him shudder. "Oh, God, oh God, sir, sir, sir," Jim moans like the words mean the same, and Pike needs to feel Jim's flesh give resiliently under his teeth, biting up his throat and jaw, licking into his mouth.
Jim moans continuously, loud, open-throated, bucking between his hand and Pike's, and Pike gasps and has to pull out of the kiss, too distracted to pace his breathing. Too distracted by this boy for all kinds of sense, ever since they met. Jim groans, looking at him out of shadowed eyes, something bottomless opening behind them, and Pike leans forward to nip his ear and murmur into it, knowing what Jim needs to hear.
"Come on, boy," he growls, and Jim presses his shaking open mouth just above Pike's collar, muffling himself against Pike's throat. "Come on, you can follow my orders, can't you? I know you can do what I tell you. Come on, son, you're a good boy, my good boy. Come for me." That does it; Jim cries out like he's in agony and clutches Pike's hair, shaking hard enough to make the chair's shocks squeak in protest. For a long moment afterward, Jim melts against him, sitting on his hand, head heavy on his shoulder; while he can, Pike kisses his glowing ear and whispers, "You did well."
Soon enough, with a self-conscious chuckle, Jim lifts his head, gathers himself up, and backs carefully off Pike's lap, bringing the shirt with him. He wipes himself off and hitches up his pants, then offers it to Pike, who gives in and lets his mouth twitch as he scrubs his hands as best he can. Jim laughs again, a delighted bark, rolls up the wrecked shirt into the smallest possible bundle, and stows it in his pocket. He brushes his hands over his head and rubs the bites on his jaw, looking rather like he won a really pleasant fight.
He shifts as if he's about to reach for Pike's hair too, but a look stops him. Instead he folds his arms, and they regard each other for a few moments. Pike's thighs throb where Kirk was sitting on them, he really needs to wash up and drink something strongly alcoholic, and he thinks he may never have seen before how clearly Jim is like and is not his father.
Jim takes a breath, looks into the distance as he considers one question, shrugs, and chooses another. "Am I?" he asks quietly. "A good boy?"
Pike considers refusing to answer a question based on something said during sex, precisely until the smirk starts to unfurl at the corner of Jim's mouth. "You're a good man," he says, watching Jim actually listen. "And you'll be a good captain, because they'll need you to be."
Jim nods, once, soberly. Then he grins, incorrigible as always. "This time tomorrow?"
Pike doesn't smile. "This time tomorrow, bring a datapadd and your brain. We have a lot to go over before you can take command of the Enterprise."
From the rueful tilt of his mouth, Kirk paid attention to everything Pike didn't say, but his eyes are still shining. "See you then, sir," he says, his salute picture-perfect, and lets himself out.
